


Sure Would Be Prettier With You

by Linsky



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Contract Woes, Getting Together, Like Bros Do, M/M, Making Out, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 02:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20735084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsky/pseuds/Linsky
Summary: Mitch doesn’t know if he and Auston will do the thing again, this year.





	Sure Would Be Prettier With You

**Author's Note:**

> In which Mitch and Auston watch the best season of the Great British Bake-Off and realize some things about their feelings.
> 
> (Okay so this is probably not how offer sheets or contract negotiations work. DON’T @ME I JUST WRITE DUMB BOYS FALLING IN LOVE)
> 
> [Tumblrrrr](https://linskywords.tumblr.com)!

Mitch is excited about the start of training camp. Which doesn’t really make sense, because he hasn’t signed a contract yet, so he won’t be skating in it. But he’s in town already, obviously—he lives here—and training camp means his teammates will be around.

Auston texts him on Monday night before camp starts, just, _here_. It’s not exactly an invitation, but if he didn’t want Mitch to come over, he shouldn’t have texted him, should he?

Auston looks massive and tan and unsurprised to see him. He gives Mitch that little half-smile he has when he’s really happy and not trying to make a show of it, his eyes lighting up.

“Dude, that thing is still on your face,” Mitch says, and walks forward into his arms.

“It’s called a mustache,” Auston says, like two minutes later, because he’s a doofus who takes forever to find a comeback. If you can even call it that. “Maybe someday you’ll be able to grow one.”

“Fuck off, my bare chin reflects my purity of spirit,” Mitch says, slugging Auston in side. Normally he would break the hug at that point, maybe get a little more roughhousing in, but it’s been a bunch of months. He hasn’t gotten in his Auston-hug quota yet.

Auston gets them dinner, something his meal service left him. They eat at the coffee table in the living room while they show each other their photos from the summer. Most of them are already up on Instagram, but it’s different with narration.

“So I still haven’t signed yet,” Mitch says over the last few bites of chicken and kale.

Auston looks up in surprise. Probably because he was in the middle of telling Mitch about his baby sister’s lacrosse training. “Um. I know.”

“Okay. I just.” Mitch shrugs.

“Darren will figure it out,” Auston says. “You trust him with this, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mitch says. “But, like—”

“Do you want to see pictures of Alex’s new puppy?” Auston asks.

It’s more abrupt than Auston usually is. Mitch blinks at him for a few moments. Then, “Obviously,” he says.

***

Neither of them has anything to be at the next morning, so they sack out on the couch after they eat and watch some mindless TV. It’s nice: not that Mitch hasn’t been relaxing a bunch this summer, but it feels different to do it when Auston is there. Like his normal life is starting up again.

He doesn’t know if they’ll do the thing again, this year. Last April he would have expected it, but it’s been almost five months since then. A lot can change in five months. Either way, Mitch is happy like this, leaning back against Auston’s ridiculously comfortable couch and making fun of his taste in TV.

“No, but seriously, what is this,” Mitch says.

“Bre got me into it,” Auston says. “It’s actually really good.”

On the screen, the guy with creepily blue eyes and the nice older British lady listen to a guy who looks like a cartoon character tell them about his Madeira cake. “If you say so,” Mitch says. He’s full and sleepy. He doesn’t mind.

He starts out not quite touching Auston, because that’s how they sat down on the couch, and there’s just, like, a tiny bit of awkwardness after five months. Mitch doesn’t like that, the doubt of it, and so he lets himself lean sideways until their shoulders are touching. That’s way better. Mitch can feel his shoulders relaxing.

The people on the screen are starting to make a different kind of cake—Mitch wonders what they’re going to do with all that cake—when Auston shifts, turning his head toward Mitch and brushing his forehead against Mitch’s temple.

Okay. So they _are_ going to do the thing. Mitch tilts his head up and meets Auston’s mouth with his own.

They started doing this at some point last fall, after a shitty game against the Habs that left them both feeling like they’d been run over by a zamboni. It’s not a big deal: they just kiss sometimes, when they’re sitting on the couch together. Not every time, but most times. Mitch likes it a lot: likes the taste and feel of Auston’s mouth, likes the way Auston’s tongue against his makes his body fill up with warm glowing sparkles. He touches all his bros, arms or shoulders or backs or whatever, draping himself over them when they’re tired or hanging out; why should mouths be off-limits?

Auston’s tongue licks against Mitch’s lip, slips inside his mouth. Mitch’s stomach skips like a stone over water.

He likes the way Auston puts his hands on his arms when they do this. Auston’s hands are strong, obviously, and Mitch’s arms are—look, he’s not small, even if he’s smaller than a lot of hockey players out there, and his arms have gotten decently built over the last few years. Auston seems to think so, his hands working up and down Mitch’s biceps like he wants to map them, feel every inch. Mitch likes the contrast of it: like Auston is acknowledging his strength, the hard muscle he’s built in his arms, and also holding him firmly enough that it would be tough to use it. Mitch pushes into the grip and the kiss, licking into Auston’s mouth.

Auston’s mustache tickles his cheek, but his lips are soft and hungry and send shivers into Mitch’s belly. The minutes blur together, Mitch wanting more and more of Auston’s mouth with each swipe of Auston’s tongue. He feels like he’s a balloon that’s about to swell up and rise off the couch, buoyed by this warm lightness that spreads into his fingers and toes. He’s so glad they’re still doing this.

There’s always a point where it gets heated, where they’re gasping into each other’s mouths and it feels like they can’t get their faces close enough. That’s when Auston makes little pained noises in the back of his throat and Mitch thinks, more, more, he needs—

Then it’s like a switch flips, and they back off from the edge. Their kisses slow down, and their breath evens out, and then it’s just little kitten licks and Mitch leans his head against Auston’s shoulder. Auston’s arm is around him, warm and solid, his fingers trailing up and down Mitch’s arm with that light tingly touch he only ever seems to use when they do this. Mitch is hard in his jeans, but it doesn’t even matter. He’s snugged up against Auston and floating on good feelings. He loves the hockey season.

***

His agent calls him the next morning. No news on the contract. Mitch does his full workout anyway—gotta be in shape regardless of where he ends up—and tries not to check Twitter.

Willy invites him to lunch after, with Zach and Mo and Auston. Zach and Mo make cracks about Mitch’s contract, telling him he’ll be like Willy last year, and Willy protests and throws bits of his salad at them. 

“You gotta sign, though,” Zach says. “Can’t deprive us of your beautiful shiny face.”

“Seriously,” Willy says. “Sucks, if you don’t. Gotta just get it done.”

“Amen to that. We need you here,” Mo says, holding out his fist for Mitch to bump.

Mitch waits for Auston to say something, but he doesn’t, not until they move on to talking about Willy’s summer in Sweden.

The two of them go back to Auston’s place after. They were halfway through an episode when Mitch went home last night, and as Auston points out, you can’t just leave the bakers hanging like that. “Not in the middle of bread week,” he says cryptically.

Mitch figures out what he means by bread week, but he doesn’t end up watching most of it, because he’s too distracted by Auston’s mouth on his and the way it makes his toes curl. By the time they stop making out, the contestants are making cheesecakes.

“That looks fucking amazing,” Mitch says while some guy named Tamal shows off his hazelnut cheesecake. “Let’s go get cheesecake.”

“I can’t,” Auston says, which Mitch expects to be something about his nutrition plan, but Auston follows it up with, “My dad’s in town, we’re supposed to go to dinner.”

Mitch is kind of mystified that Auston’s dad’s been in town and has a) not been staying with him and b) not minded that Auston’s been spending so much time with Mitch instead of him. But Mitch has given up expecting Auston’s family to behave like his own, and anyway Auston’s dad is usually doing work when he’s in town. “Mm, okay, I should head out,” Mitch says, sitting up and stretching.

“You could—come, if you want to,” Auston says.

Mitch looks at him for a second. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

He and Auston’s dad have spent a bunch of time together. Brian was in town their whole rookie year, and he still comes up a lot. He doesn’t even look surprised to see Mitch when they come into the restaurant. “I’ll have them change our reservation to three,” is all he says.

They get seated soon enough anyway, the hostess smiling a lot and obviously recognizing them. She doesn’t ask about the contract, thank God, but Brian does, as soon as they’ve put in their order: “So, Mitch, any movement?”

“Not yet,” Mitch says. Mitch doesn’t actually know what’s happened with it today: presumably nothing big, or Darren would have called him. He knows Darren has a lot of meetings and calls he doesn’t pull Mitch into.

“Don’t want to miss the beginning of the season if you can help it,” Brian says. “Lose a lot of opportunity that way.”

“Yeah, I know.” Next to Mitch, Auston is looking at the drinks menu, even though Mitch knows he isn’t going to order anything this close to the season. “I’m keeping up my training.”

“Good, that’s important,” Brian says. “What’s your resistance these days?”

They talk about training for a while after that, and Auston comes back to life and joins the conversation. Mitch doesn’t have any problem keeping up his end of it—he never has a problem doing that—but he’s distracted, and he’s still thinking about it when they leave the restaurant.

“The rumors are true, by the way,” he says to Auston when they’re in the car going back to Auston’s place. “About the offer sheets. In case you’ve been listening what they’re saying.”

Auston is driving, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. “It’s not usually a good idea to listen to rumors.”

“Duh.” They all know that. That’s not—“Just, in case you were wondering whether anyone else is trying to get up on this jelly.”

Auston looks away from the road long enough to give him a deeply horrified look, and Mitch starts laughing.

He waits to see if Auston says anything else about it, but he doesn’t.

Mitch left his car at Auston’s place and his keys upstairs, because he wasn’t thinking things through, and when he follows Auston up to get them, Auston turns to him just inside the front door and puts a hand on his jaw and kisses him.

It’s not that they never do this, kissing when they’re not on the couch. It’s just uncommon enough that Mitch is surprised by it. He opens to it right away, though, parting his lips for Auston’s tongue and cupping his hand around the back of Auston’s neck.

They end up making out against the wall of the foyer, Mitch licking at the peppery taste in Auston’s mouth until it’s gone and he just tastes like Auston again. He tips his head back to try to get as much of Auston’s tongue in his mouth as possible. Auston’s hand is on his waist, clenching and unclenching on his t-shirt, while they kiss until they can’t get enough air anymore.

When they break apart, Auston’s lips are bitten red and his cheeks are flushed. Mitch blinks, feeling like his eyelids are weighted, slow down, even slower up. Auston’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Well,” Auston says. “Good night.”

Mitch doesn’t always jerk off after they kiss. It seems like it might make it weird. But he sure as fuck does after _that._

***

He has to go in to the rink the next morning to meet with management. Darren’s trying to get them to match the offer sheets, and Mitch has to sit there while Kyle Dubas talks about why they can’t do that and hints at how bad it would be if this went to arbitration.

“Can’t we just—” Mitch says when they have a break, just him and Darren. They’re talking about under and over 11 million. Either way it sounds like a lot of money to Mitch, and he just wants—

Darren raises an eyebrow. “It’s ultimately your call,” he says. “But we shouldn’t let you go for less than you’re worth. Not good for anyone if you stay with a team that doesn’t really want you.”

“Right,” Mitch says, the word stale in his mouth. “Sure.”

He has lunch with his mom after the meeting. She lets him complain, reminds him that Darren has his best interests at heart, steers them into a conversation about his cousin’s new baby. Mitch doesn’t blame her: he knows he’s been talking about this to her a lot these past couple of months, and there are only so many times she can listen and say the same things. He knows she wants him to stay in Toronto. But she also wants what’s best for him.

It’s just—he dreamed of playing for Toronto his whole life. Best day of his life when he got drafted here. And he knows sometimes, with dreams, they turn out to be disappointing when they come true—but this hasn’t been like that all. This has been even better.

His mom has an afternoon thing, so Mitch goes for the run he had to skip this morning. He ends up running near Auston’s condo, and he thinks about texting but doesn’t want to bug him. He’s probably with his dad, anyway, and Mitch doesn’t want to crash all their time together.

He goes home instead, and clicks on his phone to find a text from Mo to all the guys who are in town, announcing _BOYS NIGHT OUT!!!_ Which, Mitch is obviously there.

It’s a little less exciting to go out on the town when it’s two nights before camp and no one will be drinking. But it’s a good night anyway, everyone happy to see everyone else, and most of them ask about Mitch’s contract but no one bugs him too much. They’ve been there, most of them, and the ones who haven’t yet are too terrified to ask.

No one’s even tipsy, but Mitch has never needed alcohol to enjoy hanging out with his guys. He knows guys who get all uncomfortable if you cuddle them when they’re not drunk, but he’s pretty much trained all these guys out of that by this point. He leans against Kap’s shoulder and watches where Auston’s gotten waylaid by one of the new guys, Tyson Barrie: Tyson’s all excited, waving his hands in the air, and Auston has that look where he’s a little overwhelmed but isn’t sure what to do about it. Mitch cracks a grin.

No one stays out too late—“Captain’s orders!” Mo announces, telling them to all go home and rest up for camp or at least not let him know if they aren’t.

Auston sidles up to Mitch while he’s paying for the soda he probably wasn’t supposed to drink. “So, it’s pastry week,” he says.

“Oh my God.” Mitch’s face breaks into a smile. “Don’t tell me you want to watch more of that show.” And then, when Auston starts looking uncertain, “I mean, yes, obviously, but Nadiya and Tamal had better not get cut this week. I’m not watching if they get cut.”

Auston looks shifty.

“Oh my God,” Mitch says, and follows him home.

Mitch doesn’t end up watching pastry week, because Auston presses him back against the cushions and licks his mouth open, and Mitch loses track of his whole body and starts making these super embarrassing noises. But he watches Victorian week, when they’ve backed off and are leaning panting against each other, Auston’s hand in Mitch’s hair.

“The Victorians ate some fucked-up things,” Mitch says. “Meat does not belong in a pie.”

“Mm,” Auston says. He sounds half-asleep, but his hand is still moving in Mitch’s hair, tugging a little sometimes and making shivers run down Mitch’s skin.

“I guess I’ll be in meetings most of the day tomorrow,” Mitch says. “Last day before camp and all.”

“Yeah,” Auston says.

Mitch watches while the guy with cartoon-character eyes tries to build the sides of his pie. “I mean,” he says. “It would just suck to not get it wrapped up tomorrow. You know? Not to be able to skate with you guys.”

Auston doesn’t say anything. His hand has stopped moving. On the screen, Nadiya, the awesome one, is biting her lip as she tests the temperature of her pie.

Mitch should probably stop talking. Instead he says, “What do you think I should do? If they can’t match what’s on the offer sheet—”

Auston takes his hand away, stretches. “We should probably call it a night,” he says, getting up. “Early morning tomorrow.”

Mitch stays on the couch for another minute, cold all along his side where Auston was pressed against him.

***

Mitch was right: he does have to be in meetings pretty much all the next day. He goes home after the first one, but he gets called back almost as soon as he’s walked in the door, so then he just stays at the rink all afternoon. He sits around the players’ lounge in his suit, feeling like a tool when other guys come through for workouts.

Auston doesn’t come by. He probably already worked out that morning. Can’t go too hard on the day before training camp. Mitch thinks about texting him, something random—it’s not like they’re in a fight or anything—but he can’t think of what he would say.

He probably shouldn’t go over there tonight. Not that Auston’s even invited him. Just—they’ve been hanging out a lot this week. Maybe Mitch should back off a little.

His phone buzzes. Darren wants him again.

They end up in another meeting at five-thirty, when Mitch knows at least some of the people in the room were meant to be gone by now. They’re going over all sorts of deal-sweeteners, merch contracts, no-movement clauses, bonuses—all the things Mitch knows they’ve been over a dozen times. “All right,” Kyle says when the clock is pushing six-thirty. “I think it’s time to jump to the bottom line.”

Darren doesn’t flinch or anything like that, but Mitch can tell by the way he pauses before he speaks that he’s not happy about that. “Great,” is what he says. “We’ll let you know tomorrow morning.”

“What was that?” Mitch asks when they’re out of the meeting.

Darren makes a face. “I was hoping they’d be willing to find more to offer. But what Dubas is basically saying is, they want to know our hard-and-fast minimum, and if they don’t like it, they’ll walk away. Puts us in one hell of a position.”

Mitch feels a little spike of adrenaline, a flash of cold. “So? What do we tell them?”

“That’s up to you,” Darren says.

Mitch doesn’t want it to be up to him. “I don’t know. What do we offer that they won’t walk away from?”

Darren tips his head back and forth. “That might not be the way to go.”

That’s why Mitch is fucking asking. “Then, how do we make it work?”

“You need to consider seriously whether we want to make it work,” Darren says. “I know you care about this team, and this isn’t what you want to hear, but they aren’t acting like a team that wants you. Just because you’re comfortable here, that’s not a reason to accept less than you’re worth.”

It’s been such a long day. Mitch wants to go outside, stand under the sky, maybe scream a little. “So—so, what? We give them a higher number, let them walk away?”

Darren shrugs. “That’s the risk you’ll have to run.”

Mitch’s head hurts, a pounding pain in his temples. He just—he wants to play. He doesn’t want it to be this complicated. “Can—can I let you know in a few hours?”

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” Darren says.

***

Mitch wants to talk to someone. He could talk to his mom and dad. He could call up Dylan or Connor. He could talk to Willy, or John, or any of the other guys on the team who know more or less what he’s dealing with. But he ends up at Auston’s.

He doesn’t know he’s angry until Auston opens the door. Auston looks surprised to see him; he’s in a workout t-shirt and shorts, like he was lifting or something, even though there’s camp tomorrow. “Were we—”

“Why don’t you want to talk about my contract?” Mitch asks.

Auston’s face shutters over. “I haven’t—it’s your business,” he says carefully.

Mitch doesn’t want careful. He’s had careful all day. He feels like he’s full of pressure, like the top of his head is going to come off. “Yeah, but you won’t fucking talk about it,” he says.

“I don’t want to bias you towards—”

“Fuck that.” Mitch pushes past him, into the foyer. His heart is beating somewhere in his stomach. “You can talk about a thing without, I don’t know, violating your neutrality or something. You’re not Switzerland.”

“I…didn’t know you wanted me to talk about it,” Auston says.

“What the fuck.” Mitch turns around to face him. “I tried to talk to you about it, like, twelve fucking times.”

Auston looks back at him. He looks—closed off, distant, like he’s not really here for this. Like nothing Mitch says can make a scratch on him. “I talked—”

“Yeah, you said two fucking words about how my agent would handle it.” Fuck this. Mitch doesn’t need to stand here and—whatever. “I get the picture. You don’t want to talk about it, great, I’ll go find someone who does.”

“No, hey—” Auston says, grabbing his arm before Mitch can leave. “You can tell me about it. If you want.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s shitty, that’s how it is,” Mitch says. “Because apparently the team doesn’t want me, and that means I’m not supposed to want them, I’m supposed to fucking respect myself or something and go to some other team even if it’s not what I want—”

“They’re just trying to get you to make good business decisions,” Auston says.

“What does that even—it’s not a fucking _business_ decision,” Mitch says. “Do you even—do you know what everyone else on the team has said when I brought up my contract? That they hope it works out. That they want me to stay.”

“Well—yeah, of course, they do,” Auston says.

“Yeah, but that’s not—you know what, no, it’s fine. I get it, it’s whatever.” Mitch’s head is pounding again. “Sorry I bothered you. I’m just gonna go decide how much I’m worth, see you later.”

He tries to turn away again, but Auston still has his arm. “Okay, so I didn’t want to talk about it,” Auston says. “Do you want to know why?”

“I fucking knew it. I knew you didn’t—”

“Because if I talked about it,” Auston says, “I was going to do _this._”

He takes Mitch’s face in his hands and kisses him.

It’s hard, open-mouthed, forceful enough to push him back against the door. Mitch goes with it, too shocked to resist, opens his mouth to Auston’s tongue more from instinct than anything else.

It lasts maybe ten seconds, and then Auston breaks off, gulping for air. Mitch blinks at him, stunned. “You—were doing that already,” he says.

“Not like this, I wasn’t,” Auston says, and moves back in, an enveloping wave, kissing Mitch’s mouth open and pressing their bodies together. He gets his knee in between Mitch’s and oh Auston is _hard._

It’s like a burning coal dropping into Mitch’s stomach. His own cock is filling, like it always does when they kiss, but it’s never mattered much before; now, with Auston’s body flush against him, pushing him against the wood of the door, it’s all that matters.

It’s already past the point where they always back off and switch over to cuddling. Auston’s not backing off at all: he’s sucking on Mitch’s tongue, making these little noises Mitch hears sometimes when he jerks off. His hands are cupping Mitch’s face and his thigh is rocking against Mitch’s cock and Mitch is dizzy with it, and then Auston breaks away and drops his forehead to Mitch’s shoulder.

“Sorry I—sorry,” Auston says. He’s breathing really hard. “I wasn’t gonna do that. I know you don’t want—”

“Well don’t fucking _stop_,” Mitch says, and Auston makes a noise and gets his mouth on Mitch’s neck and his thigh back against his cock, punishingly hard, and Mitch arches his neck and falls back against the door and gets his hands on Auston’s ass to pull him in harder.

They make out for long hazy minutes against the door, and then Auston tugs Mitch down the hall and they tumble onto Auston’s bed. Auston tears off Mitch’s clothes with shaking hands and Mitch feels like he’s been hooked up to an electrical wire. He doesn’t know how they held back at kissing for so long when just Auston’s hands on his chest are almost enough to make him come. Then Auston’s cock slides along his and Mitch shouts and Auston grinds down and Mitch grabs for his face and kisses him until he sees stars and—how did he not know? How did he not know this would be everything?

Auston touches him afterward, the slow tingly way he used to brush his fingers over Mitch’s arm when they’d cuddle. Only now it’s his whole body, Auston’s hands exploring every inch of him, eyes soft and full of wonder at what he sees. Mitch leans back, lets him touch; and then he touches back, can’t help it, the solidity of Auston’s shoulders and the thick padded muscle of his glutes and the notch at the base of his sternum. The arc of Auston’s cheekbone, smooth under Mitch’s thumb as Auston meets his eyes.

“Don’t take one of the offer sheets,” Auston whispers, and Mitch has had sex with a bunch of people, but he’s never felt anything like the warmth that spreads through his chest and belly when Auston says that.

“What if I don’t have a choice?” Mitch asks.

“Then—come see me. Whenever you can.” Auston presses his face into Mitch’s neck, spreads a proprietary hand on the side of his ribcage. “I don’t care if the team wants you. I—I do.”

Mitch kisses him, hard, and swings a leg over his hips.

***

He calls Darren later that night, when he’s showered and clean and only a little wobbly from the blowjob Auston gave him in the shower. “I want to stay,” he says.

“Okay,” Darren says. “Then let’s talk numbers. If we budge on the annual bonus structure—”

“No,” Mitch says. He looks at the door to the bedroom, where Auston is lying in bed, warm and sleepy and waiting for Mitch to join him. Sometimes, maybe, you just have to choose what you want, and take a leap and hope that it will choose you back. “I don’t care about the numbers. Just…make it so that I can stay.”

There’s a pause from Darren. “Okay,” he says finally. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Mitch says, and hangs up and goes into the bedroom to find Auston, to slip back into the life he’s chosen.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Mitch signed for $10.893M AAV, and everyone was very happy. :D


End file.
